Stalemate
by Serpente
Summary: The search for a serial killer leads Mac and Danny to broaden their horizons in more ways than one. [MacDanny slash]
1. Chapter 1

It was a peculiar Summer morning. The sun hid behind ominous grey clouds, threatening rain. A female body lay naked on dry, almost yellow grass. Danny tried to hide his discomfort by squinting at the eluding sun, as tiny sweatdrops began to form on his forehead. The air was stale and the stench emanating from the victim sickening. It was almost unbearably hot, but Mac acted as though nothing could disturb him as he examined the crime scene closely.

"Multiple stabwounds" he noted. "The cause of death's quite obvious."

«_Now, that's what I call an understatement»,_ Danny thought. The immense pool of blood surrounding the victim was nothing more than a detail when one looked at the body itself: Jack the Ripper would be proud of the serial killer they had been chasing for what seemed like months, but had only been two weeks.

"When's this gonna end?" a frustrated Danny muttered, to no one in particular. Mac looked up at him from his crouching position, an unreadable expression on his chiseled features.

"Not until we stop him ourselves."

* * *

"We have six victims so far."

Danny found himself wishing Mac had ommitted the dreaded 'so far'. The other CSIs were gathered around a table in the lab, concentrating - as much as the scorching heat and a broken air conditioning allowed them to - on Mac's weekly update on the case, which had become usual since the sanguinary serial killer's killing spree had begun, not a fortnight ago. The head CSI had resorted to assigning Lindsay and Hawkes the few cases that sprung here and there across New York City, while he, Stella and Danny dedicated themselves fully to one of the most disturbing cases Mac had ever had the displeasure of working on. Not without the occasional protests from Lindsay, of course. Hawkes, on the other hand, was quite happy with the tacit arrangement, for it allowed him a few short strolls to the ME's office to observe the victims of 'Joe the Ripper', as he called him.

Danny suddenly wished they all didn't look so damn _okay_ about this. He was the first to admit he was on the verge of breaking down, though. He'd been working non stop since they had found the first vicim, a female jogger on Central Park. The others had too, but somehow he was sure they weren't plagued by nightmares at night and the unsettling vision of Mac by day. Mac.

_«Damn, Mac. Why do you have to look so fuckin' inhuman?»_

He thought he had made his peace with the side of him that longed for his boss, night and day, through the bitterness of Winter and the softness of Summer. The truce, however, seemed rather fragile then. Life seemed fragile too, in looks of the crime scene photos that lay in front of him, reflecting the fluorescent light of the large table, taunting in their violence and a crude reminder that we're all made of bones, flesh and blood. Mac too.

"As far as we know, they share no connection. We were not able to establish any motivation on the murderer's part either. In short, he's keeping us in the dark. No DNA, no fingerprints, no fibers, hair, nothing."

"He knows what he's doing", Stella cut in.

"We, on the other hand, don't." Lindsay let out, with a defeated look plastered all over her face.

Danny was about to say something when Flack practically threw the door open and hurried inside the lab.

"We got something", he announced, panting. "Our colleagues from Lisbon faxed this just minutes ago. Looks like they've been watching the news about our 'Joe'." Hawkes raised a hand with two fingers forming a 'V' and a small smile, aknowledging the nickname he had created. "They had a similar case five years ago and it looks like their murderer striked again last night. They've sent their files over for confirmation."

Mac studied the photos Flack handed him. Danny got impacient and asked, "Well!".

"It could be him." Mac admitted, albeit doubtful. "It's hard to tell, though."

"I suppose it's possible." Stella twisted her curly hair in a bun and secured it behind her neck, willing the clinging heat to simply stop bothering her. "The last murder here in New York happened five days ago."

"Still," Danny retorted, averting his eyes from Mac for the first time since their meeting had started. "Why would he be merrily hopping between New York City and Lisbon - on the other side of the ocean - murdering and disemboweling people like there's no tomorrow?"

"That's what we have to find out."

Everyone stared at Mac at this. Lindsay started, tentatively, "You mean… are we going to fly over to Lisbon?"

"Me, Stella and Danny are. We need you and Hawkes here to take on the cases that might come up in the meantime, and to work with Flack in case we need something while we're there."

Hawkes got up from his chair. "I'll check the passenger lists of the flights between New York City and Lisbon in the past four days, so you can compare them to the suspects the Lisbon PD might have."

"You do that. I'll make the arrangements for our trip." With this, Mac left the lab with Stella. Only Danny sat there, contemplating his luck - or lack thereof - which denied him the most simple things. Like sleeping. And having Mac in his bed.

* * *

The portuguese detective waiting for them at the airport was a tall, harsh-looking man in his forties. His black hair contrasted oddly with pale grey eyes, cold as ice and every bit as unwelcoming as their owner. He introduced himself as Detective Alves as he practically forced them into an old black car sporting numerous scratches and dents and drove them to the place where the victim had been found.

They left the car on the side of a road that crossed the most dense forest Danny had ever seen right in the middle of a city. They ventured into the woods, getting all sorts of odd looks from the few joggers and bikers who passed by. The day was drawing to an end, and seeing the beautiful sunset both amazed and relieved the blond CSI, who found himself meditating on the differences between New York heat and Mediterranean heat. But then Detective Alves spoke.

"We found her here," he said, pointing towards a tower with barred windows, but no door. He could hear water running inside. Mac edged closer to the strange tower and peered inside a hole on its wall, dug by the police.

"In there?" he inquired, and Detective Alves nodded.

"Yes, people started noticing the smell. She'd been dead for at least 36 hours. You've already seen the pictures and read our report."

"What is this, anyway?" Stella asked with a puzzled expression.

"An aqueduct, built in the 18th century. This is one of it's many air-holes, or rather towers. It extends for over 36 miles throughout the city."

"Great. That means she could've been dumped anywhere..." Danny remarked. Alves nodded again.

"I'll take you to the aqueduct tomorrow morning. Chances are she was dumped there. We've arranged for you to stay in a guest house downtown, we'd better get going."

Mac and Danny exchanged glances. The scent of eucalyptus and pine-trees flooded the night air, and Mac suddenly regretted the disturbed peace of the forest. He also regretted the anguish in Danny's blue eyes.

* * *

"Oh, my God."

Those were Danny's words upon entering their room. Mac looked around and silently agreed.

The guest house looked old on the outside, but this run-down room was definitely something out of a horror movie about haunted mansions.

"You must be kidding me, _Detective_ Alves." Danny let himself fall back on one of the beds, following Mac's movements as he took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the back of the only chair in the room. "Maybe Stella's room's better."

"I wouldn't count on it, Danny." Mac said, with a hint of a smile.

Danny smiled too and closed his eyes.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Many thanks to my reviewers, **fruitbat00**, **Damien'sOmen** and **Phyl**. You guys rock :)

* * *

Danny bent over the solid rock wall to look down at the tiny cars passing on the road below them. He got a rush of blood to the head when he realised he was about an inch away from falling. Would Mac cry, would he abandon his unfeeling demeanor, if he looked down from the huge aqueduct only to see Danny's body, torn, finally broken, more than 200 feet below? 'Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse'. Where had he heard that? The truth was, he couldn't bear to appear before Mac looking anything but beautiful. Even dead. Danny shook his head, suddenly realising what he'd been thinking.

_«You idiot. Mac really hit you hard, Messer.»_

"... no fingerprints, nothing?" Danny caught the end of Mac's question. He turned his attention to Detective Alves, who was shaking his head, and his boss. Stella was leaning against the wall opposite Danny and looked at him sadly. If Danny hadn't known better, he'd think she knew exactly what was going through his mind at that moment.

The sight of the 35 enormous arches of the aqueduct stretching lazily over forest, road and railway tracks had mesmerized Danny. Being on top of it was almost overwhelming, like he had just taken a leap back in time. But Mac was still there. He was the only reason for holding onto the present.

Danny's eyes fell upon a bloody, fading handprint on one of the iron doors leading to the inside of the aqueduct. He blinked, once, twice, but it remained there.

"Mac... Mac!" he called, trying not to sound too happy with himself. "You're not gonna believe this. We got him."

* * *

Another victim, the same _modus operandi_. Disemboweled like the others, a female body lay mangled on a ledge, the water running furiously only a few feet below. She held an Ace of Spades tightly between her teeth. Her jaw was clenched and her dark brown eyes impossibly wide open. Her expression, however, was strangely peaceful.

Mac retrieved the card and bagged it. Danny looked down at him. "You think he's our guy?".

"Maybe."

Even now, Mac was still unnervingly prudent. Detective Alves shouted into his cell phone in an incomprehensible and rushed speech, and Stella was lifting the prints. Only Danny seemed and felt lost.

* * *

"The fingerprints belong to a Marc Böck." Detective Alves announced later that day, stuttering a little at the unfamiliar name. "German, naturalized american ten years ago, owns a house in Lisbon. A prominent author in your country, it seems. Have you heard of him?"

Danny and Stella shook their heads. Mas wasted no time in calling Lindsay and Hawkes to have them look through the passenger lists for Marc Böck.

Things seemed to be looking up, as they had quickly obtained the confirmation that Böck had flown there on the day after the last New York murder, as well as his address in downtown Lisbon. That night, Danny was even rewarded with the lovely domestic sight of Mac ironing his shirts on the bed. He could get used to this.

"You wanna grab Stella and go out to get some air?"

Mac looked up from his self-assigned household chores.

"You got tired of watching the night activities of the city?"

Danny chuckled. He had been sitting on the windowsill observing the restless dance of prostitutes offering themselves both to passers-by and cars driving down the road, slowing down when they spotted a little more flesh showing, or more voluptuous curves. Drug dealers lingered on street corners, waiting for that one client who would make their day and allow them to end the night in one of the many shady bars in the neighbourhood, shooting down absinth to forget the sorrows of life which had robbed them of the possibility to live under daylight.

"I guess you could say that." he finally answered. "I could use a little escape from the harsh reality, I guess."

Mac smiled. Oh, Danny could _definitely _get used to that.

* * *

He hadn't predicted he'd be alone with Mac by the river, though. Stella had somehow managed to spot a greek restaurant amidst the bustling confusion of tourists and locals, and sauntered happily towards the entrance, after insisting that they joined her. They didn't, and ended up sitting by the river, revelling in the soft sounds it produced, inexorably rushing forward to meet the ocean. They had found a tiny fruit market still open despite the lateness of the hour, and bought a handful of surprisingly huge and sweet cherries. Mac now held the bag on his lap, and Danny had a pretext to reach out for some of the wonderful fruits and 'accidentally' brush Mac's sleeve, or if he was lucky, his hand. Many people filled the coffee shops, restaurants and bars. Some sat outside, enjoying the cool night air and eating snails with expressions of bliss. This confused Danny to no end.

"...I mean, why would anyone want to eat snails!"

"Lindsay." Mac let out a short laugh.

"Okay, you've got a point there."

A confortable silence fell upon them. Danny had to give it to Mac, though; either he was really enjoying himself, or he was doing a pretty damn good job at pretending he wanted nothing more than walk with him by the riverside sharing a bag of cherries.

* * *

TBC

* * *

**A/N: **Liked it? Hated it? Authors crave feedback! 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Let me thank you guys for reading and reviewing! gives chocolate chip cookies to **Meine Welt**, **kamadi** and **Dybdahl**!

* * *

Böck's apartment was everything a regular person could expect from a cold-blooded killer. Hanging on the blood red walls were dozens of black and white photos with a definite artistic touch to them, but all of them sickening. Most portrayed dead women - or pretending to be so -, naked, with plastic bags over their faces, gunshot or stabwounds. Perfect bodies, imperfect deaths. Such cruelty was precisely the reason why Mac started to suspect that Böck wasn't the murderer they were after. His years of experience told him to look for a normal person; this author was everything but normal.

Böck lead them to his balcony, inviting them for a tea. Danny felt the sudden urge to punch his mocking grin off his face when the author suggested they enjoyed the spectacular sight over the old part of Lisbon and the river, instead of staring at him as if he were some kind of criminal.

"Well, are you?" Danny asked politely, with a threatening undertone. Stella wondered how he'd managed to do that.

"A criminal?" Böck chuckled. "Please, detectives. Can't a guy enjoy his vacation in peace, after such a long year? My latest book just got published, and with the autograph sessions and whatnot I'm really tired and..."

"I couldn't care less." Danny interrupted. "Where were you two nights ago? And the night before that?"

"Well... here, where else?I told you needed to rest."

"Any witnesses?"

"Actually... yes. Let me go get her. Our nightly activities kept us up pretty late and she's still sleeping."

"We do not care for details that specific." Stella's steely voice silenced Böck the way Danny couldn't. "Bring her here, quick. We don't have all day."

Böck and his girlfriend matched oddly. Both were in their thirties, exceptionally pale and strangely beautiful. Their unnaturally black hair made them look washed out, almost as if their vital force were leaving their sickeningly thin bodies, slowly but surely. Mac suddenly wanted to leave this house, and forget the fact that Claire had been as pale, and her hair as black, when she woke up beside him, her eyes puffy and her long hair tousled. And the red of the roses he used to give her every Saturday was perfectly mirrored by the tormenting walls.

* * *

"It's him, Mac. I'm sure."

Mac shook his head sadly, staring at the wooden floor in front of him. They were back at the police station, in Detective Alves' office. The latter was sitting behind his irritantly tidy desk, scribbling furiously, his brow furrowed as if Danny's mildly loud chatter were bothering him immensely. Stella, leaning against Mac's desk, was absently running her fingers through her curly hair, stopping from time to time to wrap a curl around her index finger. Mac observed her intently, certain that looking at Danny right now would make his resolve crumble. And he had promised himself he'd forget this madness that made him want the younger man ardently, even as his heart clenched with desperate thoughts of Claire.

"No, Danny. I don't think he's our guy." Mac finally answered, once again avoiding Danny's eyes. "Don't you think he's a bit of a _conventional _serial killer? A little too conventional, perhaps."

Danny stared at him. "Too conventional?", he repeated, incredulously. Mac nodded. "Oh, come on, Mac...! So you think the timings were nothing but coincidences?"

"Maybe."

Danny huffed indignantly. "I'm gonna go out and get some decent coffee.", he announced, before slamming the door behind him. Detective Alves' piercing gaze was fixed upon the offending door, as if daring it to go after Danny and smack him on the head repeatedly. Stella stopped playing with her hair and stated the obvious.

"I think you made him angry."

Mac sighed.

* * *

That night, when Mac opened the door to their room, he found no sign of Danny. Part of him was glad he didn't have to face him right then, even though the other part - surely the irrational one - would rather set things straight as soon as possible. And it was never too soon.

Mac shed his jacket, for once letting it fall crumpled on the bed instead of hanging it somewhere to prevent any creasing, and was getting started on the buttons of his impeccably white shirt when Danny came in. Mac turned abruptly and saw him standing in the doorway, unnervingly still as a statue. They stared at each other for brief moments which seemed like hours, and then Danny spoke. "I had no idea absinth was legal here."

It took a while for Mac to grasp what Danny had just said. He took a deep breath. "Did you try it?"

"I was going to." The younger man took a few steps towards his bed and sat heavily, feeling the old mattress sink under his weight. "But I figured we should talk. I can't win an argument with you if I'm drunk."

"Do you want to talk or argue?" Mac asked wearily.

"Neither, I guess. Hey... I should have tried the absinth, after all."

"Danny, please be serious for once." Mac had meant to make it sound like a plea, but it had come out in an accusatory tone. Danny chuckled, a frighteningly emotionless sound.

"So, I'm an incompetent employee. I can't even recognize a murderer to save my life. Why don't you just fire me and get it over with?"

"Danny, I..." But then Mac's jaw clenched, and his face assumed the expression that stated _'It's just business, nothing personal'._ Danny knew that expression all too well, so he also knew what was coming next. "I'm not going to fire you, but perhaps you should get back to New York. I have to agree that our differences are starting to affect our work. Lindsay can take your place here."

"Oh yeah, that sure shows how much you care!" Danny growled, turning to the window to get some fresh air and, hopefully, some restraint. Mac could see his back rising and falling as he bent over the windowsill, panting.

"Danny..." he whispered, not really expecting him to hear. But Danny did, and turned to look at him, defeated. Mac continued. "This case has many truths. You only see the most convenient one."

"Mac... Mac, please, don't send me away. Please."

But Mac knew it was the right thing to do. For Danny, and mostly for himself. "Sorry, Danny. I have no choice."

"What do you mean, you have no choice!" Danny yelled. "Tell me what's really going on here!"

"No, _you_ tell me what's going on here!" Mac's self-control simply flew out the window, and both were at each other's throats. Not what he had had in mind. At all. "What's gotten into you? You never acted like this before!"

"Well, _luckily _I can't say the same, can I? Because you've acted like this before, like you have some problem with me! Admit it, Mac!"

"I refuse to admit something that's not true, Danny."

"Then I'll start, shall I? Since I'm the only one here who's willing to tell the truth, as embarrassing as it may be."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and me, Mac." Danny hissed, grasping Mac's shirt more to prevent him from stepping back than with any suspicious intentions - which included pushing him onto the bed and fucking him senseless. "I'm talking about me wanting you, and you being so fuckin' clueless the whole time."

There, he'd said it. But now he wished he hadn't, because Mac wouldn't stop staring at him with something akin to horror plastered on his face. Danny let go of Mac's shirt and took a few steps back. He was almost ready to apologise and bolt through the door when Mac closed in the distance between them and captured his lips in a fierce, but slow kiss.

Danny still didn't know what to think when he found himself on top of Mac, caressing every inch of him he could reach, and when he impaled himself on Mac, as if following an age-old script. Their restless dance continued, as their heated bodies competed with the night's still warmth. Mac fought the urge to close his eyes, as Danny had done. The body above him, glistening with sweat, trembling slightly, seemed so fragile; Mac reached for his hands and intertwined their fingers. As Danny's tightened around his, he whispered, "I won't let you fall", and then he knew he loved this man, and it was bliss, it was rapture, it felt so good, it felt so right.

When Danny lay on top of him, gasping for breath, spent, Mac knew. Even if Danny hadn't buried his face in his neck and chanted, over and over, the words he didn't want to silence anymore, Mac would still know.

* * *

TBC

* * *

**A/N:** (insert witty author's note here, because the author is braindead) 


End file.
